Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (38 page)

"Fair enough." Carter stole Landon's water
bottle to rinse out his mouth, then spit on the ice. "Don't worry
about it. I got this."

Landon nodded and they bumped helmets. He
managed to make his mind go blank and centered on the little black
disk. Dropped. Swept up by Carter and passed to their youngest
rookie, who fumbled and ducked as Nelson rushed him. He lost the
puck and Nelson barreled down the rink. Landon came out to meet
him.

Bent down low, Carter hip checked Nelson and
stole the puck. He paused and grinned. "Tell Mel butterflies look
some nasty over dimples!"

Nelson roared and chased Carter across the
ice. The kid moved like a jaguar, long strides and pure speed,
feinting to the left and attacking from the right. The Sabres'
goalie fell for the ruse and looked back as Carter tucked the puck
into the empty net.

First period over. Landon met up with Carter
as the team headed to the locker room. Slumped on a bench, he
pulled off half his layers to let his body cool down. The rookies
congratulated Carter on his goal, but the few veterans ignored him.
Landon studied the men, taking note of the cliques that formed
between the old and the new. He had to give Callahan credit. As a
captain, he pulled the team together, and his alternate, Perron,
worked as the glue. Unfortunately, neither of them was here. The
excitable rookies really had no one to lead them. Except for Demyan
who snubbed them all and Landon himself, who'd never been
comfortable with team politics.

"You guys were real solid out there!" Tim
grabbed the shoulders of two rookies, and inclined his head to
Carter. "That goal was highlight reel worthy. But take care of
those hands. We don't need them busted up in a fight."

"Got it, Coach." Carter pulled off his shirt,
flexed, then laughed. "I need to beef up a bit before I take on
that guy again anyway. He's got fists like a fucking sledge
hammer!"

Tim nodded. "Yes, but so does Mason. Let him
take care of the man."

"Mason's not here."

"With the way you chirped out there, Nelson
will be on you all season. I like that you don't turtle, kid, but
if you're going to run your mouth, let him take the penalty."

"Will do," Carter said.

Landon laughed as Carter approached. "So
you've got it? Next time he takes a swing, you gonna stick your
head in your shell?"

"Hell, I don't know." Carter scowled and
dropped onto the bench beside him. "I should, shouldn't I?"

"He could have ended you out there."

"Yeah . . . not so sure about that."
Scrubbing his face with a towel a trainer handed him, Carter
mumbled. "I didn't even get in a punch. I looked like a damn
pussy."

"Fuck that." Landon shoved the kid almost off
the bench. "You made up for losing the fight by putting us on the
scoreboard."

"I guess . . . ."

The kid was damn competitive. Which was good.
So long as he put that energy where it actually counted. But he
didn't need a pep talk. "So . . . butterflies?"

Carter lifted his head and chuckled. "Yeah.
Mel has one on each butt cheek. She's hot, but they're all gross
and faded. Like she sat in something. And they're right over her
dimples, so they look squished."

"Damn. So you really did fuck her?"

"Oh, yeah. She wouldn't take no for an
answer. You know the type."

Landon nodded, even though he didn't. He'd
been with a woman who knew him before he'd been drafted. Before he
was someone. He hadn't let sex or women take away from his goal to
be the best. And that mindset had cost him too much for him to
change it now.

Sweaty, smelly, and all suited up again,
Landon followed the others out to the rink for the second period.
The next twenty minutes were uneventful. The tie held well into the
third period. Demyan, whose minutes had been limited so far, pulled
a double shift and led a merciless strike against the Sabres
goalie. Not quite as fast as Carter, but the way he fluidly spun
and dodged his opponents made them all look like toddlers learning
to skate on two-bladed 'cheese-cutters'. He had the puck for most
of his shift and played cat-and-mouse until, with only five minutes
left on the clock, he walked up to the blue paint and surprised the
Sabres goalie with a smooth five-hole shot.

The crowd booed as Demyan took a flamboyant
bow. Bad enough he'd made asses of their entire team, but he had to
rub it in.

Entertaining? Yes. But Demyan was proving to
everyone—including his own team—that he had no class. Not one of
the Cobras—except Carter—congratulated Demyan for the goal.

Of course, Demyan didn't look like he gave a
shit. Slouched on the bench, he pushed his helmet over his brow and
folded his arms over his chest. Looked like he was taking a nap.
The rookie close to him scooted over as though afraid that whatever
was wrong with him was contagious. The Sabres' bench grumbled and
their goons leaned over the boards, shouting insults at Demyan.

A fresh line up took the center ice faceoff.
Carter managed to sweep up the puck before the focus fully shifted
from Demyan's antics. Weird, because the kid had riled up their
captain . . . .

Yeah, but Demyan disrespected the team and
the fans.

Intentional? Hell, Landon doubted it. Scott
Demyan was an arrogant, cocky fucker. Why would he care about
taking the target off the kid's back?

No time to dwell. His fumbling defense had
moved too far into the Sabres' zone. The eager rookies wanted some
of Carter's spotlight and he seemed happy to give it to them,
saucering easy passes to the line for one timers. Not a selfish
player then. Good man.

The defenseman flanking the left missed his
pass. Nelson picked it up for a breakaway.

Landon blocked out the rink. Blocked out the
crowds. Saw nothing but the puck and the man charging him. And
Carter, catching Nelson and diving to knock the puck away from his
blade.

Nelson cursed and slashed his stick into
Carter's face as the kid tried to rise. Players crowded around
them, fighting for possession. Carter dropped to hands and knees.
His blood splattered the ice beneath him.

The ref didn't see him. The linesmens'
attention locked on the play as Nelson careened into the net. The
puck left his stick. Landon grabbed it. And hacked his stick into
Nelson's legs.

A harsh whistle. Shouting. Landon tossed his
stick and skidded to Carter's side. The trainer joined him, knelt
on the ice, and used a towel to hold the torn flesh of Carter's
mouth together. Blood soaked the white cloth as the trainer helped
the kid stand.

"That fucking bastard." Landon left Carter to
the trainer's care and looked around for Nelson.

Demyan already had him. A swift uppercut sent
the Sabres' captain flying. A ref grabbed Demyan from behind and
hauled him back.

'You're fucking lucky, you pussy! This isn't
over!" Demyan howled and gave the screaming crowd the finger. "Hope
you enjoyed the show you sick freaks!"

Fuck what people say about you man.
Landon grinned and shook his head. His whole body quivered with
rage as Demyan was shoved towards the hall leading to the locker
rooms.
You're quality.

Someone was dragging Landon and he glanced
back to see a ref glaring at him.

"You're out of here."

He snorted. "Yeah, well that's a
surprise."

"Shut it, Bower." Tim reached out and fisted
his hand in Landon's jersey. "Get out of here. I'll talk to you
later."

"Carter—" Landon shook his head and tried to
turn. Blood. So much blood. "He—"

"We've got him. Just go."

Go. You can't help him.
He'd been
ejected from the game. Hell, he'd probably be suspended. The
temporary satisfaction of lashing out at Nelson dwindled away,
leaving him empty and cold.
Some fucking pro you are. Was it
worth it?

He snarled and punched the wall on his way
down the walk of shame.

It damn well better be. This is all I've
got.

* * * *

"I can't speak for the league. There will be
a review of what happened on the ice and both Scott Demyan and
Landon Bower will accept whatever supplementary discipline is
handed down."

Dean folded his arms over his chest, watching
his brother address the media, and grudgingly admitted he was
handling the questions well. So far.

A familiar face in the crowd of reporters
stepped forward and Dean cursed.

"Would you say you support your players'
actions on the ice?" Rebecca Bower thrust her mike at Tim like a
dagger and she wanted to stab him with. "Rumor has it that Bower
was in no condition to play tonight. No one is all that surprised
by Demyan's actions, but perhaps you wouldn't have to worry about
losing your starting goaltender for any amount of time if you'd sat
him tonight."

"There are many rumors, Miss . . . ." Tim's
brow shot up and he smiled. "Bower. I fully understand your
concern, but if that was Landon playing at less than his best, I
look forward to what he'll bring to the team this season. As for
the players' actions, we have many passionate men on this team.
Passion is shown in many ways, and while I cannot encourage
retaliation in the manner it was displayed today, I expect my
players to react when their teammates are targeted as our young Mr.
Carter was."

"Didn't he ask for it?" Another reported
shouted out from the back of the crowd. "He made derogatory
comments to the Sabres' captain about his wife."

"More rumors?" Tim shook his head. "Many
things are said on the ice. Carter is having surgery to piece his
mouth together as we speak. I don't believe anything he may have
said warranted such a brutal attack."

"So you're claiming Nelson's actions were
intentional?"

"Watch the replays and make your own
judgments," Tim said, evasively. "Thank you."

Well done, brother.
Very PC, yet, he'd
managed to support the players and state his opinion. The previous
coach, Paul, hadn't been comfortable with the media. He came off as
brisk and had more than once thrown players he didn't like under
the bus. Which Dean should have paid more attention to, but the man
seemed so professional he hadn't questioned it. Only in hindsight
did Dean realize the man had been wrong for the team.

Seeing Tim out there, confident and
approachable, gave him a new outlook on the skills a coach needed
to run a team like the Cobras. He couldn't wait to see where his
brother would bring them this season.

But first, he had to deal with Bower. Demyan,
he would leave to Tim, but Bower . . . as a goalie—as a
Dom—
he should have shown more control.

Silver came to his side and slipped her hand
into his. "Can we go now? I need to see if Carter is okay."

Carter or Landon?
He almost asked, but
thought better of it and simply nodded and squeezed her hand.
"Sure." He noticed Rebecca, off to the side of the conference room,
glaring at him. "Just give me a minute."

Rebecca's lips twisted into a scowl as he
approached. "I don't care what the coach says. Landon shouldn't
have been out there."

"Rebecca." His brow furrowed as she stared at
him expectantly. "Your brother is a grown man. You can't come
running every time—"

"This time is different."

He studied her face. Maybe she wasn't
overreacting. Bower had gotten drunk. And maybe not because of his
problems with Silver. "Different how?"

She glanced over at the other reporters, at
Silver, and shifted forward. "Can we talk somewhere private?"

Silver might not . . .
he looked to
Silver and she inclined her head. No jealousy in her eyes. Just
concern. He gave Rebecca a stiff smile. "Yes. Follow me."

Another conference room, the one he'd used to
speak to the players the night before. Smaller, but private. He
took a seat and motioned for Rebecca to do the same.

"I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but
I have to tell someone since Landon won't. Hockey is his life and
if he doesn't let this go he's going to lose that too." Rebecca
covered her face with her hands and hunched over. "I can agree with
one thing Tim said. Landon is passionate. He's played hockey since
he was four years old and our parents supported him, even when he
got older and threw away other opportunities for more training,
more time at the gym. He didn't have much of a social life—except
with the other players, and even then, only the serious ones. He
had one girlfriend in high school. The only girl who could put up
with seeing him only once or twice a month. He stayed with her
through college."

Rebecca stopped talking. Looked torn, as
though not sure she should continue.

Dean steepled his hands on the table. "Sounds
like he had something special with her."

Shaking her head, Rebecca stood and started
to pace. "That's the thing. It wasn't really special. She just fit
with his lifestyle, even after . . . ."

"After . . . ?"

"Landon had a college professor who was an
old school Dom. Strict leather. He saw something in Landon—a need .
. . ." Rebecca went to the window and placed her hands on the
ledge. "He introduced Landon to D/s—he was attracted to my brother,
but Landon is straight and not at all submissive. Somehow, it
worked out anyway. Because Landon wanted to learn. They became very
close friends. From what I understand, Tracy was totally into
everything Landon wanted to try. She threw herself into a 24/7 with
him—whenever he was around long enough—"

"She became everything he wanted."

"Yes and no. She played the perfect sub, but
she started to come down on him about the time he spent with his
mentor and his friends. Bitched about the time he spent with his
family. He tried to accommodate her until one day she pushed him
too far." She sighed. "Right in front of us all—mom, dad, our
little brother—she lashed out and said she was tired of sharing him
with his gay friends. Landon is nothing if not loyal. He ended
things."